Childs Play 666
by Valkyrie4
Summary: COMPLETE Follows The Seed Of Chucky. A toy restorer finds Chucky's mutilated body in a bid to get his very own Good Guy doll. What will happen when Chucky comes back to life? Will he get a hankering for blood? Probably.
1. ReAnimation

Childs Play 666

(A/N: My first ever Childs Play fanfiction! It's set not long after the final scene of The Seed of Chucky. Hope you enjoy!)

"Damn stupid city drivers!" Francis yelled as yet another jazzed-up sports car cut in front of him as he barrelled down the highway at eighty miles an hour, he was late for a meeting with a seller and Francis knew he wouldn't wait for him. The old Nissan Micra struggled to keep up with the demands put upon it by the accelerator, it revved loudly and spat noxious gases from it's exhaust pipe as Francis sped down the road before turning off onto an exit ramp and heading around a corner, practically sideways. Pulling up outside a small café he got out, the brakes of his car squealing noisily, and ran into the coffee bar and up to the counter. "Did a guy come in here?" He asked the short and rather burly-looking waitress, who glanced at him and resumed her cleaning duties.

"Hon, we get a lot of guys in here." She replied in a rough voice.

"No, I mean, he was tall…long dark hair…"

"Scar on the face?" The waitress interrupted.

"Yeah, that's him!" Francis cried out excitedly.

"Sorry honey, he left fifteen minutes ago." The waitress answered before walking off to serve someone. Francis groaned and left the café; he walked back to his car and cursed under his breath as he got in.

"Just my damn luck…" He muttered. His clapped-out Nissan spluttered and coughed as he turned the key in the ignition before it died completely. The journey from his home in the suburbs to the city centre was too much for the aged vehicle; it had driven its last mile. "Guess I'll have to walk…" He sighed with a heavy heart before getting out and slamming the door, causing a side-mirror to fall off and clatter to the concrete pathway. It just wasn't his day.

Sirens wailed in the background and squad cars zipped past Francis as he strolled down the back street, away from his car and to the nearest telephone box. He hummed to himself and kicked a can down the street, his hands deep in his pockets and his mind deeper in thought, so deep in fact, he almost didn't see the dumpster behind the hospital. He blinked and moved closer to the chain-link fence that separated the street from the hospital's trash compactor.

"What's that…?" He asked himself, staring at a tuft of what seemed to be red hair sticking out of the trash. He then saw an arm with a familiar striped sleeve attached to it. "It can't be-…a Good Guy?" Without a second's hesitation or thought for his own safety Francis started to climb the fence. His pulse was racing, this was the only chance he'd had to even see a Good Guy doll outside of the TV or a magazine, and now that they stopped making them in wake of the Charles Lee Ray and Tiffany murders this would be the only chance to see one for real. They didn't even produce more dolls than was needed to make the movie, which was still in production, in case something happened, like Ray and Tiffany returning from the grave. Francis never believed that voodoo crap, he didn't have an explanation as to why it couldn't be a living doll that killed all those people though, but it was an interesting story and a Good Guy doll would fetch in thousands in cold hard cash if he could find one, and he had a feeling that he just had found one.

Searing pain shot through Francis' hands as he tried climbing over the razor wire that was curled around the top of the fence. But he didn't care, his hands could bare the pain, all he needed to do was get a bandage and some anti-septic cream, this Good Guy couldn't wait, it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and he could not pass it up because of a few deep gashes in the palms of his hands. Material tore as he dragged his right leg over the fence, creating a four-inch slash in his dirty brown trousers. Francis fell from the top of the eight-foot fence onto the asphalt below and scrambled back up to his feet just as quickly, he ran to the dumpster and stared at the arm. He slowly started to remove the garbage from around it before he realised that the arm had no body attached to it. But still, he knew it was a Good Guy arm because of the trademark clothing. He took it and set it aside before moving the trash around the red tuft of hair, exposing the practically ruined Good Guy doll-head.

"Oh no…no, no, no, no…" Francis sighed as he pulled the stapled and stitched plastic head from the dumpster "someone messed you up good," he then grinned as he picked up another arm and a leg "but I'll fix you." As happy as he was to finally find a Good Guy, there was still the matter of finding the body and remaining leg. After half an hour of digging through decomposing rubbish, the desperate man finally found the torso and missing leg he'd been looking for. Now reeking of trash and god-knows-what else, Francis was satisfied with himself, he'd finally managed to get a Good Guy doll, albeit in pieces, but repairing it wouldn't be a problem for one of the best toy restorers around. Francis grinned to himself and took off his jacket, wrapped it around the doll pieces and tucked it under his arm before walking back to the fence, he climbed over it, ripping his shirt this time. He landed on the path and quickly started his long trek home.

It was several hours before Francis got back to his run-down bungalow in the quiet-yet-crime-filled suburban neighbourhood on the outskirts of the city and it was even longer before he could even begin thinking about restoring the doll he'd just found. He needed the right equipment and material, stuff he didn't have in his house, which annoyed him severely when he came to realise that fact.

For months, long, lonely and near-starving Francis used every penny he could spare to repair the broken toy. Nothing was more important to him now that getting this Good Guy back to his original state. He'd managed to repair the dolls tattered clothing, you wouldn't even know it had been in a condition less than perfect unless you'd seen the doll before Francis got his hands on it. The arms and legs had been re-attached and also looked immaculate, all that was left now was to repair the head and re-wire the voice box and mechanisms to the neck. He picked the head up off the wooden worktop he'd been using to work on the Good Guy doll, examining the stitches and staples in the face of the toy he realised they weren't real.

"Shit…" He cursed. He'd been hoping to take out the sutures and mould the face back together, but if they were already moulded as part of the head then he couldn't do much about it. Francis set the head down and switched the radio on, leaning on his elbows. His workplace was dusty and full of equipment, strewn around the room were small pieces of fabric and paper; he had very little time for cleaning. A dimming 60-watt light-bulb hung from the ceiling by its wiring, lighting only a small amount of the room. The radio crackled as a news reporter spoke; reception was never very good in that particular room.

"Access Hollywood has just revealed that the studios producing the upcoming movie based on the killing spree of Charles Lee Ray and his girlfriend Tiffany have called off the search for the missing dolls." Francis stared at the radio, then quickly averted his glance to the doll which lay before him; had he found the missing Chucky doll? "They said that 'It has been taking far too long and wasting too much police time and resources to look for them, we can always make another pair.'" Quickly, Francis looked around and spotted the black connector that was previously attached to the dolls back.

"So that's what it is…" He mumbled to himself. He had no idea what it could have been when he took it out, all he knew was that it wasn't on the original Good Guys, so it had to go. He shrugged and set it down again, the doll was perfect without it, and there was no visible sign of it being there. Thinking of the toys perfect state, his mind came back to the matter of replacing the head; there was no way he could use what he had now, it wouldn't look right. He had to find another head, but where? And how much would it cost him? He switched off the radio and hurried to his living room, there _had _to be _someone_ on the Internet with spare doll-parts.

After a whole year of non-stop searching on auction and hobby sites, Francis came up with nothing. There was absolutely no one anywhere in the world with a Good Guy head that he could use. Plenty of people had made their own, but they were not very good at all and besides, he wanted an official head, not some cheap recreation. Then, he was struck with an idea, something so simple he couldn't see why he didn't think of it before: go to the abandoned Good Guy factory, if it was still there.

After the murders that surrounded and ultimately demonised the Good Guy doll franchise, the factory was abandoned; no one wanted to go near it, not even to demolish it. It became somewhat of an urban legend, like a haunted house or something. Unfortunately, and unbeknownst to Francis, it had been burned down by arsonists, who were then later discovered to be the family and friends of the victims of the maniacal doll known simply as Chucky. Francis donned his old brown duster jacket and left his home in search of the old factory, hoping that even if it had been demolished, that there was still at least two-halves of a head remaining, he could work from that.

The sky had turned a sickly orange-purple from the mixture of the setting sun and pollution caused by excessive vehicle and factory emissions, it was getting late and Francis had only just reached the area where the Good Guy factory once stood, the charred rubble was still there, piled up against the odd remaining wall or twisted support beam. Francis meandered through the rubble and other bits of the old factory that had survived all these years; he kicked small bits of rubble and moved large pieces of wood and metal, searching for the elusive head he'd been longing for. But all he found were dead rats, melted plastic and burned fabric; no head at all or anything, for that matter, that even remotely resembled a Good Guy doll. After nearly an hour of looking, Francis had found nothing.

"I might as well give up," he sighed, "there aren't any dolls here." It had gotten a lot darker by now, bad seeds came out at night around these parts. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and decided he'd get the bus home; it would be a lot quicker than walking. He walked across the wasteland that was once a factory over to the sidewalk and from there walked down towards the nearest bus stop, again he was deep in thought and again, like the dumpster, he almost didn't notice the road turning off and lowering, going underneath the factory, like a multi-storey car park. After a nanosecond of thinking about it, Francis decided it'd be worth his while to investigate; he could always catch the next bus.

The road disappeared into the darkness of the underbelly of the old Good Guy factory and while Francis wanted a Good Guy head more than anything, at that moment he wished he wasn't so desperate for one; going into such darkness inside a factory that has so many ghost-stories about it wasn't exactly good for his nerves.

"Wish I'd brought a torch…" He muttered before tripping over a large piece of rubble. He stuck out his hands to grab onto the metal shutter in front of him, his hands slipped and he fell flat on his face. Getting up on his knees he sighed heavily and looked around. "Great…just great…no way in." Just then, a car went past on the road above, its headlights on full-beam. The light from the car illuminated the space Francis was in, lit up the shutter and the rusted padlock that kept it fixed to the ground. He got to his feet, picked up the rock he tripped over and threw it at the padlock, breaking it off the shutter.

Metal creaked and groaned as Francis struggled to lift the shutter up enough to get through, he quickly placed the rock under the shutter and rolled under it before it slammed down, leaving a six-inch gap between it and the floor. Francis got up and looked around, finding that it was darker in here than outside. Another car rolled past and some of the glow from its headlights slipped in under the shutter, allowing the middle-aged man inside to see what was in the room. He smiled, it was the storeroom, and it had been untouched by the fire that had ravaged the rest of the plant. Boxes filled the corners of the room, stacked against the walls from the floor to the ceiling. Francis ran to the nearest one and grabbed it, his smile faded as the box fell apart in his hands and the mouldy plastic arms fell out onto the floor. He cursed and picked up another, and another, and another, all of them disintegrated and all of the plastic contents were mouldy and useless to him. Then, after digging through piles and piles of boxes, he found one that wasn't as decayed as the rest. At the bottom of the pile of boxes in the corner of the room was an almost completely dry box; he opened it, dug through the Styrofoam inside and brought out a near perfect Good Guy head and mechanism.

He grinned and hid his findings under his jacket before running back to the shutter, he lifted it up and rolled underneath again before moving the rock and letting the shutter slam down to the concrete. The bus rolled down the road above him, fearing he'd have to wait for the next bus Francis ran as fast as he could up the ramp, onto the sidewalk and ran down to the bus before diving on as the doors were about to close. He paid the driver and sat down, sighing with relief.

When he got home Francis went straight to his workshop, grabbed the Good Guy body and sat as his desk, setting the head and mechanism next to him. He opened up the body and fixed the mechanism inside the doll before attaching his own battery pack and soldering it all together; all that was left now was to fix the head and it was done.

It took several hours of careful calculation and soldering, but Francis finally managed to fix the brand new Good Guy head, which he had cleaned up, to the body he'd found. He'd been waiting years for this, and now he'd managed to make his own from different parts. With excited and shaky hands, he slipped two batteries in the pack of the doll, closed it and turned the doll around.

"Voice activated…right…" Francis uttered to himself before clearing his throat. "Hi, what's your name?"

No response.

"Ok…weird, the mechanisms brand new and I wired it up to the head properly…" He decided to try again. "Hi, I'm Francis, what's your name?" Exasperated, Francis put the doll on his worktop and moved to get up before the doll's head turned and looked at him. He stared at it, frozen on the spot.

"Hi! I'm Freddy, and I'm your friend to the end. Hidey-ho! Ha, ha, ha!" Francis laughed and picked the doll up.

"You _do_ work!" He shouted before heading to his living room. "You're staying in here, for all to see!" Francis sat the doll on the mantelpiece above his fireplace and sat down to watch television. And that's where Freddy sat, for four long years he sat on that mantelpiece with Francis cleaning him up, inside and out, every week. The Chucky and Tiffany movie was released with mixed reception: outrage from the families and friends of the victims, as well as those who were offended by the movie and it was also met with open arms by those who simply loved horror movies and didn't see the problem, after all, they'd made movies about Jack the Ripper, Ted Bundy and other killers, why not Chucky and Tiffany?

Documentaries were made by the dozens, trying to figure out the psyche of someone like Charles Lee Ray, or trying to discover the voodoo secrets behind the dolls coming to life. Francis found the idea of voodoo funny, because it sounded to stupid.

One night, he came home drunk after meeting up with an old school friend. He'd told his friend all about the Good Guy doll he'd found and made himself, they laughed and joked about it coming to life like Chucky did. As he stumbled around his living room, laughing to himself in a drunken stupor, he thought it'd be a good idea to put that coming-to-life theory to the test. The documentaries had naively said several times what voodoo incantation was used, and had even recited it themselves. Francis wondered why it hadn't worked from the TV, but he guessed that it must be said in person or something like that. Either way he'd memorised it from recordings he'd made, he always was good at memorising things. He stood in front of Freddy and hiccupped, swaying slightly.

"Ade Due Damalla." He started in a slurred voice. "Ade Due Damalla. Give me the Power I beg of you! Ade Due Damalla. Give me the…Power I beg…of you! Leveau Mercier du…Bois Chailoitte. Secoise Entienne…Mais pois de morte. Ade Due Damalla. Awake!" The doll sat there, staring blankly ahead. Francis shrugged and walked off to the kitchen, he got a bottle of whiskey and wandered back into the living room and over to Freddy, sipping his whiskey. He lowered his face to the dolls'; it still hadn't come to life, and chuckled as he thought of the movie. He reached up with the hand that held the bottle and poked Freddy in the forehead, still nothing happened. "Pfft…based on a true story my ass…what a crock of shit." He muttered. Suddenly, much to his horror, Freddy blinked and thrust his hands forward, clutching Francis' throat and wrist tightly. The doll sneered and glared at him before speaking in a rough Brooklyn-ish accent.

"A lil' lesson for ya bub, _always_ believe what you see in the movies." Francis screamed as the doll quickly snatched the whiskey bottle from his hand and smashed it over the human's forehead, knocking him out.

(A/N: Hope you liked, if you have any suggestions or constructive criticism just say so in your review if you choose to leave one. And yes, Freddy the doll is a homage to A Nightmare on Elm Street.)


	2. Birthday Surprise

Childs Play 666

(A/N: Thanks to all who reviewed the first chapter! It's very much appreciated.)

As Francis fell to the floor in a state of unconsciousness Chucky leapt off the mantelpiece and landed on the mans' stomach before stepping off onto the dirty carpet, running his plastic hands over his brand new face.

"Hey…what happened to all the crap that was on my face before?" He exclaimed. The doll scurried to the bathroom and skidded across the tile flooring, he got up onto the toilet and jumped up onto the sink. Standing up in the basin he looked into the mirror. "Wow, I got a new face! Shit, I haven't looked this good for…what, fifteen…twenty years?" He laughed and grabbed a razor off the sink, turned, jumped down and walked back into the living room. "Well, well, well…you brought me back…guess I _should_ be grateful." He muttered as he turned the TV on and walked over to Francis, who was just coming round. The doll sat on his chest and tapped the razor against the palm of his hand. "And I suppose I am," he paused as a clip of the Chucky and Tiffany movie played on a news programme, showing Tiffany in her doll-form, "'cause I have a bitch to put down." He spat, glaring at the television. Francis stared at Chucky, frozen in fear. The Lakeshore Strangler averted his attention to the trembling man on whose chest he sat, he raised the razor and brought it down on Francis' face.

Tiffany sighed as she picked up a flute glass of red wine and, taking a sip, leant forward in her chair. She drummed her fingers against the wooden table and leant on her other elbow, she'd planned the twins' party for days and now it was finally time, and still half the stuff hadn't arrived yet. She set the glass down and let her mind wander, she thought of what things would have been like if she hadn't left Chucky, if they were still together…doubtless they would still be on the run as his murderous streak was never easy to subside. It was for the best, she thought, she couldn't have a psychopath raise her children safely. Yes she had lethal tendencies too but her streak was easier to control than Chucky's, he couldn't stop himself from killing, at least she had reason for breaking her pact with him; Redman deserved to have his guts spilled.

Despite the…unpleasantness…of her past, and that of Glen and Glenda, Tiffany thought she'd done pretty well in raising two children. Better than she would have been able to with Chucky in the picture anyway, that man was impossible to live with. Not only did she wait ten years for him to come back to life, she stayed with him even after he turned her down, laughed in her face and then murdered her! But that whole episode with Glen really brought out Chucky's true colours, she didn't think he would be so callous as to try and get their son to be a killer instead of being a real father, though she couldn't imagine him being a good father figure anyway. Just then, a shrill shriek that could only be recognised as a cry of despair came from the back yard. Tiffany shot up from her chair and ran to the doors, she opened the one and stepped out.

"What's going on?" She asked before realising she didn't really need to ask as she spotted Glenda standing in front of her assistant, who was backed up into a corner between the garden shed and the fence, with several matches bunched in one hand and the box in the other. The redheaded girl stared up at the frightened woman with a glint of malice in her eyes. Tiffany furrowed her brow and placed her hands on her hips. "Glenda! Stop that!" She yelled sternly. The birthday girl slowly glanced back at her mother before lowering the matches and stepping aside in one rhythmic motion. The woman slowly edged her way past Glenda before running back over to Tiffany.

"I-I'm sorry, but I can't cope…"

Chucky smiled down at Francis' mutilated face and dropped the razor he held, which was clogged with chunks of flesh and cartilage. The doll got up and hopped off the body before stretching his new body. He extended his right arm and glanced down at the stitching at his shoulder, there was a small piece of thread sticking out; Chucky grabbed it and yanked at the thread, a split-second later he wished he hadn't because as soon as he had, his limb went limp, came loose and fell to the floor.

"Fuck…" He muttered, bending over to pick his arm back up. It wriggled in his hand for a second before stopping. Chucky smirked and walked to the coffee table; he put his severed arm down and climbed up. "This could be a laugh…"

Thinking back to his voodoo teachings under his good, and deceased friend Paul, Charles Lee Ray began a small incantation, similar to the soul-transference invocation of Damballah but with a different outcome than body swapping. The sky darkened outside as he recited the words, lightning flashed and thunder roared as Chucky raised his voice, his arm twitched and bounced slightly as the incantation came to its climax. The sky lightened and the arm lay still as its former owner leapt off the table, he was about to walk into Francis' old workshop when a familiar voice came from the television.

"I do feel as if I have recovered enough to be able to look after my children," Tiffany, under the guise of Jennifer Tilly said, "I would like to thank the hospital for helping my situation and I no longer feel the stress of my job as much as I did before." Chucky blinked and moved closer to the television.

"She didn't have green eyes before…" He stated, as if there were other people in the room listening to him. "Tiff…" He growled. He knew it, she _had _survived, what a bitch! He listened to the rest of the one-minute red carpet interview and continued one his way to the small workshop at the back of the house. Tiffany really was the obsessive type; she waited for him for _ten years _before resurrecting him and stuffing him in a child's playpen, she constantly nagged at him to do stuff like 'wash the dishes' and get 'me a new body.' Then after all that, when Glen brought them back, she was all like 'stop killing, it's a bad example to Glenda', and then when she finds Jennifer Tilly, her favourite actress, she ups and steals her body and her career! She had some nerve, but maybe that's what attracted Chucky to her in the first place, who knows? Chucky sure as hell didn't, he could figure out a cops mind much quicker than a woman's. The TV went back to the newsroom, the time and date were in the bottom corner of the screen; the date seemed familiar somehow…oh yeah, that was it, the date he died by the hands of his son, at least he died a proud father though, which is more than what could have been said for Jennifer.

He chuckled, turned his back to the television and, as he wandered into the workshop, Chucky's eyes landed on a collection of boxes in the corner of the room, he walked over to them and started looking through the pile for a box suitable enough for a birthday present. He found one; it was perfect. The re-animated doll grabbed the rectangular box and started pulling out drawers, opening cupboard doors and pulling everything out in an attempt to find wrapping paper. After a few minutes searching, Chucky finally managed to find some red wrapping paper and a reel of golden ribbon, he took them into the living room, where he'd left the box, and set them down by the coffee table. He took his detached arm and stuffed it in the yellow and blue container before shutting the lid; the arm writhed and bounced around inside and Chucky cackled maniacally as he started to wrap the box, albeit slowly, having just the one arm.

It took an hour, but it was done, he'd wrapped up the box for his children's birthday surprise and couldn't stop grinning maliciously, this would be a birthday that none of them would ever forget. Chucky hurried back into the workshop and climbed up onto a chair then onto the worktable on which, five years ago, he was restored to his former glory. He grabbed a spare doll arm that looked roughly the right size and sat down, he began to sew the new arm onto his shoulder, it was a good thing he hadn't started to turn human yet; otherwise all this stitching would hurt like a son of a bitch. Finally, after several minutes, he managed to attach his new arm to his new body; he moved it, it felt weird and almost unnatural, but it was better than having only the one arm. He hopped back down onto the floor and ran back into the living room, jumped up onto the couch and grabbed the cordless telephone.

Children ran screaming around Tiffany's back garden, chasing each other, throwing cake and generally being kids; noisy and irritating, well, according to Tiffany anyway. Maybe it was a good thing that Glen and Glenda were never that noisy as human kids, as a doll however, they were quite homicidal and did cause some trouble. As she surveyed over the party she held for her twin children, Tiffany realised the stark contrast between her children and the children that ran around her garden. But she didn't care, her kids were still her babies and she didn't care what they were like, even though Glenda did have a tendency towards pyromania and Glen was…well…Glen. A loud and heavy knock came from the front door; Tiffany hurried back inside and opened the door to be confronted by a man with a package.

"Miss Tilly?" Tiffany nodded in response, the courier thrust a rectangular package wrapped in red wrapping paper and tied with a gold ribbon into her arms, along with a card. "The order came with specifications to have a card, but no one signed it." Tiffany nodded and signed for the package before looking at the card.

"Thanks…" She said, almost to herself before shutting the door in the couriers face and turning her back, trying to find a name on the card. She slowly walked through the house back to the garden, wondering why the card didn't have a name on it. It was pretty obvious whom it was for… "…Wait." Tiffany stopped and glanced at the closet, the door was ajar and a flaccid and pale hand stuck out at the foot of the door, she hurried over and kicked the hand back in before shutting it.

Again, it was pretty obvious whom the package was for, unless it was her birthday too. She walked out to the back garden and scanned the area, looking for her kids.

"Glen honey, come over here." She called out to her son, who came running up to her. Tiffany sat down on the step just in front of the door and handed the package to him. "It doesn't say who it's from…" She said before Glen gleefully took the gift and ran off to open it. He tore at the ribbon and the red wrapping paper to reveal a blue and yellow box. Quickly, he took the lid off and stared in horror at what lay inside. Memories of the horrible events that took place five years ago came flooding back, up until that moment in time he had managed to suppress them, but just the mere sight of the plastic arm and Chucky's unmistakable clothing pattern overpowered five years of work. Movement swept all around him but Glen helplessly stood there, staring at the box, as a warm feeling crept its way down the front of his trouser leg and onto the patio below, he lost control of his eye and it began to twitch frantically, his breathing got quicker and almost went into a panic attack before the arm flinched and lunged at him.

The life force that still remained in the arm when Chucky took it off had began to drain rapidly as it lay on the living room floor, the incantation Chucky recited preserved that life force, giving the arm a mind of its own. It gripped Glen around the throat and he was about to cry out for his mother when he turned and saw she was not there.

As Glen ran off to open the mystery present, a very loud thud, followed by a very loud smash came from the living room. Tiffany spun around in surprise, and the kids instantly stopped whatever they were doing, falling silent. The children quickly ran into the house to see what had happened, Tiffany got up and also ran inside, only to be met with several shocked faces, one or two crying children and one boy whose curiosity must have been unhealthy for one so young.

Inside the house, on the wooden flooring of Tiffany's living room, next to Tiffany's old doll-body, lay the body of her former assistant. Shards of a rather expensive vase lay scattered around the woman. Two young girls huddled each other as they cried over seeing a corpse and a boy, the same age as Glen, knelt next to her, roughly poking the deceased woman.

"It's not real." He stated, nudging and pushing the body.

"Get away from there!" Tiffany cried out before rushing over and picking the body up; she stuffed it back in the closet and shut the door. "Who opened the door?" She asked, exasperated. No one answered.

"W-was it real…?" One of the weeping girls asked timidly. Tiffany knelt down in front of her and smiled weakly.

"No sweetie, of course it's not real," she lied, "it's just an old Halloween joke, that's all."

"Then why did you yell…?" The other asked.

"Because…because it's expensive, and I didn't want anyone to break it." Tiffany lied again. Then, she heard a muffled cry come from the back garden; Glenda ran in and hid behind Tiffany.

"Mom!" Glen screamed as he ran inside and over to Tiffany.

"What is it?" Tiff asked, slightly irritated at all the goings-on. She stood up and faced Glen, who held up a small plastic doll arm, which was wriggling violently. She stared at the arm and all the colour drained from her face instantly; she knew whose arm that was. "E-everyone…out, the-the p-party's over…"


	3. Family Reunion

Childs Play 666

(A/N: Thank you very much to all who read and review this story!)

"What…?" One of the two girls asked, wiping her eyes. Tiffany looked down at her, then at the other children.

"The party's over children, you all have to go home." She replied, as calmly as she could.

"Are our mommies and daddies coming…?" The other girl asked. Tiffany sighed and rubbed her forehead; she sometimes thought that kids were worse than reporters when it came to questions.

"No…but I'll call them, they can pick you up outside the house." She said as she ushered the children towards the front door, Tiff glanced back at Glenda and Glen, who was still holding the arm of his father. "You two, you go out as well."

"But mom!" Glen cried out in protest.

"No buts! Move it!" Glen sighed in defeat and dropped the arm before following his mother, closely trailed by his ever-quiet twin sister. Tiffany tensed as they moved closer to the door, Chucky was in the house, for all she knew he could be in that very room right then, just inches from her and the children. That thought chilled her to the bone and her somewhat steady walking-pace quickly turned into a canter then to a sprint. In a matter of half a second she was across her spacious living room and fumbling with the door handle, with the kids close behind her.

For a moment, just the tiniest and briefest of moments, an idea ran through her mind: what about, instead of staying inside and letting the kids out; go out with them? It would be self-preservation, right? Then something else ran through her, something she hadn't felt for a long time and something she rarely ever felt anyway: her conscience. She couldn't just run from Chucky, not only would he chase her tirelessly, he would also take down a few innocent people as well; she couldn't let that happen…not anymore.

A warm breeze caressed her skin as she swung the door open. It would be so easy to just run away with the children, leave the country, leave Chucky behind and never think about him again for the rest of her life. But again, that irritating little voice in the back of her head told her otherwise, she had to face Chucky; she had to take her medicine.

"Mom, why can't we-"

"Glen, stop it, you and your sister are _not_ staying in here with me," Tiffany snapped, "so just…just stop it!" Glen shrank back at the sound of his mother's raised voice, she'd never yelled at him like that before, she must really want to be alone with his father, though he couldn't imagine why. "Right kids, outside now. Quickly." The children hurried in a small huddled mass through the doorway and down the garden path to the street beyond. Tiffany shoved her two children out onto the doorstep before slamming the door and locking it. Glen sighed woefully and sat on the doorstep, tucking his knees against his chest; Glenda stood with her back to him, looking down over the kids moving out onto the street.

"What are we gonna do?" Glen asked his sister as he leant his chin on his knees. Glenda, remaining ever silent, just stood and watched, not acknowledging that her brother even spoke. She slowly wandered onto the grass and sat down, took out a box of matches and struck one before lowering it to the plant in front of her. The small dandelion withered and blackened as it met its end through the wrath of Glenda's penchant for fire; she tilted her head slightly and watched it burn, she would smile at the sight in front of her if she felt she had the emotional capacity to do so. Her brother took no notice of her destructive behaviour; instead he stared at the concrete path and pondered what to do next, his mother was inside with a man who would kill them all if given even half a chance despite his relation to them.

Sighing and leaning her forehead against the door Tiffany slid the deadbolt in place, she hated separating herself from the twins and if the situation wasn't so dire she might have shed a tear or two. But she couldn't get upset, not now, she had to keep focused; she had to survive this if not for herself then for Glen and Glenda and getting upset would just diminish her chances of getting through the day alive. A loud crash came from upstairs, followed by Chucky's trademark cackle. Tiff spun around and pressed her back against the door; she knew he'd derive some sort of twisted pleasure from torturing her in this way.

Her mind was in a flurry of thoughts and feelings, she had an idea of what Chucky would try to do: he'd hide, wait, and jump out at her when she's not looking with the most gruesome and painful way of murdering her he could find. She knew _his_ game plan, but he didn't know hers, and that was her advantage. Even when he was human that was how he did things, but he wasn't around enough to know how she worked and even if he didn't take notice - which she doubted he did anyway - she had changed her tactics over the years.

Slowly and quietly she crept across the living room over to the closet where her former assistant lay; the broken vase lay around her like a shattered porcelain aura, making the scene a little more dramatic than Tiffany would have liked. Her old doll body stood in the corner not far from the closet, staring at the woman on the floor, almost as if it was happy to see a fresh corpse in front of it. Tiffany sighed, there was nothing she could do but wait for Chucky to come to her.

Outside, Glen looked out over the street from his seat by the front door of his home; the children that were once at their birthday party were now wandering around the street, some were crying and others were playing or sitting on the path. Glenda had gone around to the back garden, leaving the dandelion to burn slowly. Glen slowly looked at it as it turned to ashes, blowing away in the light breeze. He sighed and glanced down at the floor, he hoped that Tiffany would be OK; he didn't want him and Glenda living in an orphanage or a foster home. That _would_ be hell, and not just for the families adopting them.

Glenda wandered around the back yard, trying to find something to do; anything to take her mind off what might be going on inside the house. She grabbed a piece of cake off a paper plate on the bench and stuffed it into her mouth; at least she could have her pick of the food left by the other children. She'd changed since she was in the same body as Glen, or was it that _he_ had changed? Either way, things were not the same inside her as they were inside her brother. Before, she could feel what Glen felt even if it did only seem like a dream. She didn't feel that way anymore, she just felt…different somehow. And she thought herself bad for feeling like that, it was how she would imagine her father felt every day; and the satisfaction she felt from burning things, he felt from killing innocent people. At least that's how she conceived it. A part of her was glad that Chucky was back, maybe now she could learn about that viciousness buried deep with in her. But on the other hand, another part of her still held Chucky responsible for the events at the hospital five years ago and didn't want anything to do with him. With a swift kick she sent a ball sailing over the garden fence; that made her feel a little better. She turned to the French doors that led to the house and blinked when she saw Tiffany staring at her from the living room.

"Glenda!" She yelled, yanking open the door and stepping out onto the patio. "I told you to get away from the house!" Glenda blinked slowly and lowered her head a little. As rebellious as she seemed to others, she knew her mother was in command and she obeyed without question and slowly walked back the way she came, dragging her feet.

Tiffany sighed and turned back around, just seeing Glenda within the vicinity of someone like Chucky terrified her to no end; she almost had a heart attack. She didn't know if he had it in him to hurt a child, much less one of his own, and she didn't fancy taking a chance to find out. Stepping over the woman on the floor Tiff entered the closet and reached around blindly for the light switch, she felt the cord in her hand and yanked at it, lighting up the small storeroom under the stairs. Tiffany quickly scanned the space for something, anything, she could use against Chucky. She spotted an aluminium baseball bat and grabbed the handle. As she did so she paused, then turned around, the handle of the bat held tightly in both hands. She expected Chucky to be behind her with some sort of death-appliance in his plastic hands. But there was nothing. The would-be murder victim felt a mixture of disappointment and relief as she stepped back out into the living room. It was then she realised it, how could she have not before? Tiffany felt like smacking herself; Chucky had not made a sound for some time now, he did wait for his victims to come to him but he was never _this _patient.

Outside, on the doorstep, Glen rubbed his eyes and sighed. He hated not being able to help his mother; he'd managed to help before. Back then he had managed to kill Chucky, who knows what he could do now? He was human after all, and three times the size of his father, he could easily do away with him again. But then again, Tiffany was ten times the size of Chucky, and a lot stronger than Glen; maybe she could do it. He shut his eyes and leant back on the door, listening to the sounds around him; the kids on the street; the gentle sound of breeze rustling the leaves of the trees and bushes around the garden; the chirping of birds; the creaking of a drainpipe…

…Wait.

Glen snapped his eyes open and turned his head to look at the black metal drainpipe on his right. There was nothing. He sighed with relief and leant back against the door, it was just the wind. Then, it creaked again. Glen looked back at the pipe a second time, still seeing nothing.

"Hello, son." The young boy leapt to his feet in shock, his eyes trailed further up the pipe and not nine feet above Glen's head hung Chucky. "How's things with your mother?" There was an amused tone in the way he spoke. Glen refused to answer and stared, frozen to the spot, as Chucky leapt down and landed on the concrete pathway below. "Not much of a talker anymore, eh son?" He asked, advancing on his son. "Well, you won't have to worry about talking for much longer; kinda hard to do that when you can't breathe." The doll stated, reaching into his dungarees and pulling out a penknife. Glen noticed his new arm, the plain pink plastic didn't suit chucky one bit, it actually made him look a little funny. Then he noticed another thing; his face. What had happened to all the stitches and staples that were on his face before? Glen took several steps backwards as Chucky continued to advance. Again, the warm feeling came, running down his trouser leg. Chucky let out a frenzied laugh and flicked out the blade of his penknife. Glen reacted with a shrill scream, which made Chucky laugh harder and leap towards his son.

"I told ya I was proud of you, boy!" He roared. "You and I, we could have been fucking _great_, but you had to get all sentimental and moral!" Glens screams turned into harsh rasps as Chucky gripped his throat with his free hand, while the other hand - the one with the knife - was being held away by both of Glens.

Glenda slowly walked down the side of the house, obeying her mother's orders to get away from the house. She sighed lightly and walked out into the front garden, blinked, and stared at the battle that was being waged between her brother and her father. She watched Chucky try to choke the life out of Glen, or at least weaken him enough to be able to run the knife he held in his hand through a vital organ. She tilted her head, interested, for reasons not even she knew. Then, another shrill scream rang through the air, this time it came from the front door of the house. Glenda quickly glanced at Tiffany, who stood; bat in hand, on the doorstep.

"Glen!" She cried out, running over. She lifted the bat over her shoulder and swung, getting in a cracking smack over the back of Chucky's head. The doll cried out in pain and fell to the floor as Glen shoved him off himself and ran to his mother. "Quick, in the house!" Tiffany yelled at her two kids, who did exactly as she said. Chucky sat up and moaned, he rubbed the back of his head and reached out for the penknife he dropped, only to find it was pinned down by a shoe. The doll ran his eyes up the leg onto which the shoe was attached and glared at his ex.

"You're such a fucking bitch…" He groaned. Tiffany growled lowly, brought the bat to her side and swung it once more. The aluminium thudded heavily against Chucky's plastic head, sending him a foot to his right. Tiff stared at him, a small smirk crept across her face; she felt immense satisfaction from the blow she dealt him, but knew it wouldn't take long for him to recover. She grabbed the penknife from under her foot and ran into the house, locking the door and slamming the deadbolt in place.

Back in the garden, Chucky sat up, his head spun and his vision was blurred thanks to that cow with the bat. He would make her pay, he thought, but after his head stopped spinning; which could take a while.

Tiffany backed away from the front door, heading to her kids. Glen stood in front of the settee, eyeing Tiffany, while Glenda sat nonchalantly on the couch. Tiff glanced at Glen and held the penknife out to him.

"Here, take it." She told him, which he did. Glen held it tightly in his hand, wondering why on earth his mother gave it to him; he wouldn't know how to use it properly. An axe is easy to use; a knife is a whole different story.

Chucky slowly got to his feet and glanced around before heading to the door; he frowned, stepped up onto the doorstep and banged loudly on the door.

"Little pig, little pig! Let me in!"


	4. It's Not So Easy

Childs Play 666

(A/N: Haha, sorry it took me so long, but here it is! Hope you enjoy!)

The Glen and Tiffany trembled in fear as the murderous doll beat his fists against the door, roaring in anger. Glenda sat on the couch, as if nothing was happening. Tiff gripped her baseball bat until her knuckles became white, she would pound Chucky into the ground if he dared come near her. And he would if he wanted to get at the kids, she thought. Then, the noise stopped; what could he be doing now? Without thinking, Tiffany quickly ran to the back door and locked it. She couldn't let him get the advantage over them. She stood there, waiting for Chucky to come around the corner and try to smash the glass doors through. She waited for several minutes before a pattering of tiny footsteps rushed down the stairs.

"You can't stop me Tiff!" Chucky laughed as he jumped over the last three steps, landing heavily on the wooden floor of the living room. Tiffany quaked in terror and stared at her ex fiancée as Glenda hurried over to her and her brother.

"H-how-"

"Open window." Chucky replied haughtily, pointing his tiny index finger to the ceiling. Tiffany backed away from him as much as she could. If only she hadn't locked the French windows, she could open them without having to turn her back to Chucky. But she couldn't unlock the doors without turning her back, which would give Chucky enough time to attack. She had to think of another strategy.

"H-how…how d-did you…c-come back…?" Tiffany stammered, keeping her emerald eyes fixated on the psycho in front of her, "G-Glen killed you…" Chucky rolled his head back in a fit of shrill laughter.

"Oh I see! Stall the bad guy and wait for a plan!" He cackled, and then lowered his voice. "That's old Tiff, I've been in the game long enough to know what you're trying to do."

"You know you can't do anything!" Tiffany shouted. "You know that if you come any closer you'll get beaten down."

"Hm, true." Chucky muttered, tapping a finger against his chin. Then, without warning, he grabbed an ornament from the coffee table and violently threw it at Tiffany, who shrieked and protected her face with her arms. The murderous doll ran at her at full-pelt and grabbed her legs. Tiffany shrieked once again and fell backwards onto the wooden floor.

"Glen, Glenda, run!" She screamed as she tried to kick her assailant off. Glen did as he was told and ran to the kitchen door.

"Come on Glenda!" Glen yelled. His sister stood and watched her parents fight on the living room floor. She wanted to go, she wanted to run away because she knew her father would try and hurt her like he tried to hurt Glen and her mother, but also she wanted to stay and watch, to cheer one of them on. She knew whom a part of her wanted to cheer for, and she also knew that it would be wrong to give Chucky that kind of support. Glen ran back over, grabbed Glenda and dragged her back to the kitchen.

"Get…get off me you son of a bitch!" Tiffany screamed, smacking Chucky with the handle of the baseball bat. He roared and bit her leg, sinking his teeth deep into her flesh. Tiffany shrieked once again, partly in anger but mostly in pain and delivered a painful blow to the side of Chucky's head. The doll's eyes lolled upward into his skull and he collapsed to the side, falling off his prey and hitting the floor with a hollow thud. Without a moment's hesitation Tiffany grabbed Chucky by the hair and tossed him into the fireplace before shutting the partition and flicking the latch on, sealing him inside. The doll slowly began to regain consciousness and sat up. He looked around and as soon as he realised where he was, his eyes widened and he shrieked in a mixture of anger and fear.

Once again his past had caught up with him, only this time it was memories that would haunt him, not his delusional ex girlfriend or his schizophrenic son/daughter combo. The memories of the late nineteen-eighties tore into his mind. He remembered Andy, his mother and that damn cop who'd killed him in the first place but most of all he remembered the way Andy screwed him that day in that fireplace. That he would never forget, for it was some of the worst pain he'd ever felt in his life.

_"This **is **the end, friend!"_

"NO! Not again!" He bellowed as he tried to break through the partition. "Let me out!" Tiffany panted and sat leaning against the couch, watching him struggle. She slowly got to her feet and laughed.

"Reminds me of the time I had you in that playpen…" she said, "a little baby having a tantrum, tut, tut, tut…no lollypop for you." Tiffany burst into a fit of laughter, dropped the bat and clutched her sides as she fell backwards onto the couch. She'd won and she knew it. Chucky growled deeply and glared at her.

"I'll get outta here, and when I do you're fucking DEAD!" He screamed, violently shaking the wire partition. Tiffany ignored him and turned in her seat to look in the direction of the kitchen, and at the two kids who stood peeking around the corner.

"Glenda…come here." Said Tiffany, calming herself down. Her daughter nodded and skipped over to her as if nothing was wrong, as if what had just happened "Give me your matches." Chucky stared at Tiffany, then at Glenda. She had matches? Glenda shook her head and placed her hands behind her back, Tiff sighed and held out her hand. "Give them to me Glenda." Again her daughter refused to hand them over. "Why won't you give them to me? Is it because you don't want me to burn him? Don't be so ridiculous," she snapped, pulling Glenda towards her and reaching into her pocket. She produced a matchbox, opened it and stared at the bottom of the box. "Oh…that's why you wouldn't give them to me…" She sighed, tossing the box away. Chucky's cries of anger were replaced with maniacal laughter, she thought she had won, she thought she could beat the great Charles Lee Ray but she was wrong, very wrong. And soon she would be dead.

"So what're you going to do now Tiff?" Chucky cackled, rattling the partition. Tiffany glared at him, got to her feet and walked over to him.

"I can still gas you out, you shit." She spat before turning a metal valve on the side of the fireplace. Chucky's eyes widened and he coughed heavily as the hissing got louder, indicating that there was more gas being leaked than was healthy. Tiffany sighed contently and sat back on the couch, crossed her legs and watched him choke. Then, an idea struck her.

"Glen, be a dear and get the gas lighter from the kitchen." She said nonchalantly. Glen nodded and hurried back into the kitchen, pulled out a drawer, grabbed the lighter and ran back to his mother. "Thanks hon." Said Tiffany as she took it off her son, got on her knees and shuffled over to Chucky.

"I-it won't work…" He half-sneered in-between coughs. Tiffany ignored him and pressed the button on the lighter, a one-inch flame shot out from the metal nozzle, aimed directly at Chucky as he sat in the fireplace choking on the noxious fumes that hissed from the fireplace, if he'd started to turn human yet he would have surely started to cough up blood by now. Tiffany pressed the nozzle as much as she could against the partition and pressed the button again, the flame shot out but much to her dismay, nothing happened. Chucky's trademark cackle rang out from the doll's throat, followed by heavy spluttering. "T-told ya…"

"Shut up." Tiffany growled. There was only one thing she could do, and it was a great risk, but she'd never have this opportunity again. She had to take and risk involved in destroying her ex and she had to be quick, no hesitating. Without thinking about it she reached up, unlatched the partition and thrust the lighter down into the fireplace. She pressed the button and the flame shot out once again, setting fire to the gas that filled the fireplace. But as it came to the front of the fireside Chucky, missing the flames by millimetres, leapt out at the partition, knocking it and Tiffany down the floor. Glen screamed as he saw Chucky's face, twisted with anger in a way he'd never seen before. The flames flickered out of the fireplace, lapping at the brickwork around it. Chucky grabbed Tiffany's throat with both hands and squeezed as hard as he could; almost unfazed by the amount of gas he'd inhaled.

"I think we need a relationship counsellor." He snarled, pressing down on her throat as his fingers constricted her windpipe. Tiffany, barely being able to breathe, gasped for what felt like would be her last half-lungful of air.

"You just need a shrink…" She rasped, trying to push him off any way she could. Tiffany's vision started to blur, coloured spots floated in front of her and fizzed into nothing as others took their place. She saw more and more spots until she almost completely blacked out. Then, the fuzzy orange shape in front of her that was Chucky's hair disappeared, along the pressure on her throat and the coloured spots in front of her. She gasped again, sat up and rubbed her eyes. Tiffany blinked several times before her vision returned to normal, she stared at Glen, who stood in front of her with the baseball bat she'd so carelessly dropped. "Glen…?"

"He ran away mom, I hit him and he ran away." He replied quietly. Tiffany held her head and stood up, he knees buckled and she fell back onto the couch.

"Where did he go…?" She groaned.

"Behind the couch." His mother's eyes widened and she shot bolt upright, her headache and dizziness quickly subsiding for the time being. Tiffany turned and cautiously peeked over the back of the sofa, and sighed when she saw that the doll was nowhere to be seen. She sat back down and rubbed her forehead, her headache slowly returning. "Why don't we run away?"

"Because…if we do he'll only come looking for us and he might hurt anyone who gets in his way."

"Oh…" They stood in silence for what seemed a long time before it was shattered by a noise that came from the kitchen. Tiffany quickly got to her feet and stared at the kitchen door. She hoped it was a neighbours cat that had gotten into the kitchen and not Chucky, if it was him that was in there then he could pick a weapon from any number of appliances, which wasn't a good thing to happen. Then again there was only the one door to the kitchen, so she could ambush him when he came out. She glanced down at Glen and took the baseball bat off him. Glen took out the pocketknife his mother gave him earlier and stood behind her, seeking protection from the only worthwhile parent he had. Tiffany edged across the living room, not going anywhere near the door, and stared into the kitchen. The window was open.

"Shit!" Cried Tiffany as a large rock bounced loudly off the double-glazed French windows that led the back yard. All three inhabitants of the house spun around to face the doors. Another rock hit and smashed the window completely; it bounced twice off the wooden floor of the living room and rolled to a stop. Glen moved behind Tiffany again, clutching the knife in both hands. Glenda, on the other hand, stood by the kitchen door, staring at the rock that had just destroyed a window that had cost more than even Tiffany could count up to. Something moved in the kitchen, catching Glenda's attention. She turned her head and saw Chucky climbing back in through the window with two metallic objects shoved down the back of his dungarees. She looked back at her mother and quickly walked over to her. Tiffany glanced down at her daughter, and then looked back at the window. "What is it Glenda?" Glenda pointed at the kitchen door and was about to speak when she hesitated, paused for a moment, and lowered her arm. Before she even began to rationalise her action Glen screamed and ran across the living room and Tiffany let out a shrill cry of pain. Glenda looked down at her mother's leg, her eyes widened as she stared at the corkscrew sticking out of the back of Tiffany's left thigh.

"Does it hurt?" Chucky cackled as he buried the utensil deeper into her leg. Tiffany screamed again and spun around swinging the bat in a golf club fashion and hitting Chucky to the floor, this time he grabbed onto the bat and violently yanked it out of her failing grip. Tiffany stared at him as he tossed the bat away. She slowly backed away, turned and limped as fast as she could out of the house to the back yard. Chucky got to his feet and watched her run, something he found to be quite enjoyable, Charles had almost forgotten what it was like to see his victims flee in terror, he had sorely missed it.

Tiffany and her children had gotten in the middle of the garden before she collapsed heavily to the grass, the skewer was causing her unbearable pain and restricted muscle movement in her leg. Blood trickled from her wound and stained the grass she lied on. Without thinking about how much it'd hurt or how badly her lesion would get infected Tiffany reached back, grabbed the handle of the corkscrew and twisted it out. She bit her lip and tears flowed freely down her face as she tossed the corkscrew over the garden fence, making sure Chucky would never get to use it again. Tiff put the pain aside and scrambled to her feet. Pain streaked up the left side of her body as she hobbled to the garden shed, she felt like collapsing again, there was no way she could fight Chucky like this.

The wooden door of the shed clattered against a wooden cupboard and Tiffany limped inside, looking for the sharpest or heaviest weapon she could use, anything as long as it could cause Chucky pain and hopefully kill him. She grabbed a hammer and handed it to Glenda, who took it and sighed, then held it in both hands and went back outside. Tiffany grabbed a three-foot metal pipe, probably used for plumbing she thought, but she didn't know, it wasn't even her shed: it was Jennifer's! As she made her way back outside she saw Chucky standing amongst the shattered glass watching them, his mouth pulled into a conceited smirk.

"They won't do you any good Tiff," he said, "you can't kill me."

"I'll kill you, you bastard, then I'll dance on your grave!" Yelled Tiffany, who held the pipe like she held the baseball bat she had lost only minutes ago. Chucky growled and his smirk faded, replacing that was a dark piercing glare.

"Why don't you just shit on me like you did five years ago?" He snarled.

"Is this what it's about? You're not trying to kill us because Glen killed you, you're after us because I broke up with you?" Tiffany almost laughed, it was so pathetic; it was something a hormone-driven teenager would do, not a fully-grown man.

"Nobody breaks up with me!" Chucky roared. "NOBODY!" This was too much; Tiffany had to let it out. Chucky's eyes narrowed further as he watched Tiffany laugh at him, at his pride, at the fact that he couldn't take her breaking up with him. "Stop laughing you fucking slut!" He screamed. Tiffany watched as he ran towards her, death gleaming in his darkening eyes. Before she had the chance to react she found that Chucky was, yet again, attacking her legs. She must have been woozy from her injury because she felt like laughing again, at the fact that Chucky could only attack her legs. The phrase "ankle-biter" came to mind. Her mind quickly rationalised itself as soon as she spotted Chucky pull out a small black-handled kitchen knife. Using the copper pipe she fended him off and pushed him away. Chucky pushed back against the pipe and, playing on Tiffany's weak leg, caused her to fall backwards. The insane doll leapt towards her, the knife ready to be driven through her face. Tiff screamed and bright the pipe up, Tiffany's screams were replaced with Chucky's as he realised what was happening, and that he couldn't stop himself.

The end of the copper pipe hit Chucky's chest with such force, it quickly ate through his body and shot out the other side. The would-be child's toy slid motionless down the pipe and stopped just in front of Tiffany's hands. He stayed there, frozen. Tiff stared at him, at the expression on his face that had also been frozen in time. She had done it. Straight through the heart, like the book said. Glenda glanced into the shed and went inside, leaving her hammer on the grass outside. Tiffany sighed and tossed the pipe, along with Chucky, to the ground. She slowly got to her feet and motioned for Glen to come to her, which he did. The pain in her leg returned with a vengeance and caused her to let out a small cry. Suddenly, it was made all that much worse when something smacked the back of her left thigh. Her leg buckled and she fell to one knee, screaming in agony.

"You didn't think it'd be that easy did you, bitch?" Chucky yelled in anger. Tiffany trembled and spun around to see Chucky standing before her with the copper pipe in his hands and a hole through his chest, the glare of death in his eyes even darker.


	5. Changes

Childs Play 666

(A/N: Well, here it is, the last-but-one chapter to this fic. Hope you enjoy!)

Tiffany stared in horror at Chucky as he glared at them, clutching the pole in his small plastic hands. Rage blazed through his circuitry and vengeance gleamed in his eyes, he didn't just want to kill her anymore: he wanted to maim her, torture her, make her scream and beg for mercy. By the time he would be through with her she'd be praying for death.

"No! How can you survive that?" Tiffany screamed in outrage. She'd done what the book said, that the heart was the weakest point, and when pierced it would kill the person or thing that was influenced by the voodoo magic. Chucky's mouth curved into an insane grin. He didn't answer; instead he swung the pole once more, striking it against Tiffany's injured leg. She cried out in pain and quickly limped backwards, trying to get back to the house. "How?"

"You wanna know…?" Chucky growled lowly. "I'll tell ya…" Before Chucky could say anything else his words were replaced by a loud howl, like that of an injured dog. Glen yanked the knife from Chucky's back and thrust it back in again. The doll snarled and spun around, beating his son's face with the copper pipe. Glen fell backwards, leaving the knife in Chuck's back. "You backstabbing son of a bitch!" He roared before reeling into a fit of maniacal laughter. "Like father like son!" He reached back and yanked the knife out. "You know, I might not be human yet but that really fucking hurts."

That must be it, thought Tiffany; he survived it because his heart's not turning human yet. But it wouldn't be long because he was feeling pain now, soon he'd start to bleed, then he'll be vulnerable enough to be killed. She just had to wait a little while longer.

Chucky put the knife in the pocket of his dungarees and turned back to Tiffany as she stumbled to the house. Ten minutes ago he would have taken this time to murder Glen, but Tiffany was his main quarry right now, it was her blood he wanted. Suddenly he felt something cover him. He was awash from head to foot with a clear fluid that reeked something awful. Chucky paused and sniffed the air.

"Gas…" He muttered, before turning to Glenda, who stood behind him with a now-empty fuel canister. She dropped it and stared at Chucky, who smiled at her. "Silly girl, you don't have any matches." Glenda stared at him and slowly glanced away. He turned again and, deciding that Tiffany was his prime target for now, walked into the house, baying for the blood of the bitch that he hated so goddamn much. Chucky glanced down at the floor, there was a trail of blood leading from where he stood over to the couch. "Hm, it's a start."

Tiffany scrambled across the living room floor towards the fireplace, which was still raging. Her leg, now being too weak to support her, gave way and she fell forwards. There was only one weapon she could see, and it wouldn't do her much good, but it was better than nothing. The lighter lay in the middle of the floor, not two feet from Tiffany's outstretched arm, then she heard Chucky's voice and footsteps. She dragged herself closer to the lighter and reached out again, she could hear his footsteps right behind her as she grabbed the lighter and spun around, aiming the nozzle directly at him.

"I could smell you a mile away," Tiff yelled, "you know what'll happen if you come near this!" Chucky cackled and swung the pipe to his side, then brought it around towards the lighter, hitting it from her grip. It flew over the couch, hit the floor and bounced once before sliding into the kitchen.

"Oh dear," Chucky started before he was quickly cut short by a rock slamming into the back of his head. He stumbled forwards and spun around, holding the part of his head that the stone had collided with. He held his hand in front of his face and stared at the blood on his hand. He glared at Glen, who stood there with another rock in his hands. He heaved it towards Chucky, hitting him in the stomach. The doll wrapped his arms around his gut, keeled forward and groaned in pain, falling to his knees. Tiffany turned and scrambled to the kitchen, trying to get as far away as she could from her killer ex-boyfriend. She dragged herself across the grey tile flooring of her kitchen, towards the lighter. It seemed that time was slowing down for her; either that or the loss of blood was affecting her movement. She screamed in pain as the copper pipe slammed into her wounded thigh with a loud _thwack_, Chucky laughed as he brought it up over his head and back down onto her thigh once more.

"Come on!" Glen yelled at Glenda, who stood outside staring at her brother. She shook her head in response. "We need to help mom, she's hurt!" Not even Glen knew where he was getting all this bravery from, he guessed it was because his mother was in trouble and he had to do something to help her, even though his destructive sister didn't want to for some bizarre reason.

Glenda knew the reason all right, but she didn't want Glen, Tiffany or anyone else finding out. She stood by and watched Glen fight with Chucky, she hesitated to tell Tiffany that Chucky was in the kitchen - if it hadn't been for her, Tiffany wouldn't have an injured leg - and she knew that she might once again fail to act when Tiffany or Glen needed her. She couldn't take that risk, something inside her told her not to. But then there was that other voice, the one that made her want to root for Chucky, the one she had to suppress. It told her to go, so she did.

Tiffany yelped in pain as Chucky assaulted her injured leg over and over again, he cheered and taunted her, mocking the suffering she endured. He loved the sounds of screaming victims; it brought him immeasurable pleasure and was not far from turning him on. Chucky raised the pipe once more to deliver his hardest blow yet, he grinned maliciously and brought it down on Tiffany's leg, the pipe found only the tile flooring of the kitchen as Glen slammed himself into Chucky's right side, sending the doll reeling into the cupboards on his left. The young hero and his sister hurried to Tiffany's side and helped her to her feet only to have her collapse again as Chucky forced the one end of the pipe into the wound he created with the corkscrew. Tiffany's knees collided with the floor with shattering force, her full body weight pushing down on her weakened legs.

Glenda watched, as she always had done before, her father torture her mother. She watched her mother writhe in pain, trying to free herself from her ex. She saw the tears roll down Tiff's cheeks and fall to the floor. Glenda felt a fire burning within, something she hadn't felt for a long time, it burned and burned until it invaded her mind, then it burned more. As she stared up at her mother, whose movement became slower and her cries faded and faded until she became mute. Slowly Glenda looked at Chucky, who was laughing, but she could not hear a single sound. If she were older she probably would have thought her symptoms to be that of shellshock, but they weren't. They were the signs of realisation.

Chucky twisted the copper pipe deeper into Tiffany's wound, the louder she screamed the louder he laughed and the more he pushed and twisted the pipe. He'd teach that bitch for all the shit she'd caused him over the past few years, he had put up with her for long enough, dumping him just topped it all off as the shittiest thing she'd done to him in all their years of being together. He felt his anger burning intensely inside him, devouring all rational thought and emotions. It burned so much the only way to stop the pain he felt was to deflect it onto his-

Wait…it wasn't inside him…

"My arm!" Screamed Chucky as he stared at his right appendage, which was being swallowed by orange and yellow flames, licking up at his face. Glenda stood at his side with the lighter in her hands, a small smirk on her usually impassive face. "You fucking brat!"

"Don't speak that way to her!" Tiffany yelled before yanking her leg away from the pipe, turning and wrenching the duct from his grip. The flames travelled further up Chucky's arm until they devoured his head and started working their way down his body. He let out the most horrific animal-like howl; the pain was unbearable. Tiffany would never forget it for as long as she lived. Chucky didn't bother fighting for possession of the pipe and spun on his heel, he was about to run into the living room when Tiffany thrust the pipe through Chucky's back, forcing it out through his chest. Through a last rush of adrenaline he pulled himself off the pipe and staggered into the living room, scorching the wooden floor he stepped on.

Tiffany sighed and tossed the pipe aside before slumping to the ground. She leant against a cupboard door and shut her eyes, listening to Chucky's final screams of agony before they died out. Glen and Glenda approached and sat beside her. There was no way he could survive that, she thought, there was no coming back from what he just went through. But she had to make sure. Chucky had endured many injuries before and survived, she had to be certain he wasn't still alive.

"Kids…help me up." Tiffany said quietly. The twins complied and helped their mother to her feet. She limped away from them towards the doorway, just walking felt like a major chore, one that outright exhausted her. Blood trickled down her leg from the wound that had been made bigger by the pipe. Tiffany peered into the living room; her eyes followed the scorch marks on the floor, which went from the kitchen to the other side of the lounge. Slowly she followed the tracks and gasped as she saw Chucky's smouldering body lying next to her ex-assistant. As Tiff hobbled to the burned-out doll she grabbed a cushion from the couch. She held her breath as she approached the inanimate plastic corpse, she half-expected Chucky to do something, leap up at her or attack her in some way. But there was nothing, even as she hit him with the cushion there was no sign of life. It was then that she realised that the doll was lying in a pool of blood, which was gushing from the wounds in his back and chest. That was a sure sign that she had finally managed to destroy him; finally she had done it. Tiffany let out a heavy sigh of relief and leant against the wall next to the closet. She choked back a small sob and buried her face in her hands, sliding to the floor.

Now she knew how all those people felt, all those innocents whom she had murdered before and after being reunited with Chucky. It was the worst feeling in the world; the only consolation she had was that her children were safe and unharmed. She had not felt the loss that her victims' families had felt, but now she knew what it was to be hunted by that insane and relentless animal she was engaged to just five years ago. Glen and Glenda walked into the living room from the kitchen and stared at Chucky's body, then at Tiffany, who was sobbing into her hands.

Glenda sighed and dropped the lighter she held in her hand, finally her pyromaniac tendencies had found an outlet other than a flower, dolls or curtains, she almost felt sorry but only for the fact that she would not get another chance to take advantage of that outlet. Her urges had eaten away at her for years, she'd felt the need to kill before, but had held it back because she knew it was wrong. Then her father came back. Finally her wanton need to kill had a source. Whatever malevolent gene ran through Chucky's veins was running through hers and it was then when she saw him for the first time since she became human that she understood what she could not fathom before. But she still knew it to be wrong. However, if she killed Chucky it would not be so wrong. Because he was a monster, and monsters need to be killed. She glanced around the room, back at Tiffany, then at the closet next to her. It seemed too small to hide a body in, she thought, probably would have been best to use the basement.

Tiffany sniffed and wiped her eyes free of her tears, now was not the time to cry, she still had to call the police and go to the hospital. Suddenly, that would become the least of her problems as a heavy, raspy breathing rang through her ears. She stiffened and the hair on the back of her neck sparked with fear. A small plastic hand wrapped itself around the doorframe of the closet and Tiffany's old doll body made its way out of the closet, glaring darkly at the injured woman.

"You fucking whore! Look at what you made me do!" The doll screamed hoarsely. Tiffany's eyes widened and she scrambled away from the bride-doll, she trembled heavily and she felt tears rolling down her face again. The doll stalked towards her as it ripped off the veil that was previously on the top of its head and tosses it angrily to the floor. "I was gonna put you through some serious pain before! But now I'm gonna do so much worse!"


	6. The End?

Childs Play 666  
The End…?

Tiffany tried to speak, but all that came out of her mouth was a half-choked babble. Chucky loomed over her, the black eye shadow surrounding the bride-doll's eyes making his glare even darker, his eyes more piercing. There was nothing she could do, not now, not after using all her energy fighting him in the kitchen. She might as well just lie down and wait for the inevitable. Then, as she moved further away from him, her hand singed as she unknowingly placed it on the smoking Good Guy doll. Without a moments hesitation she grabbed the doll and threw it at Chucky as hard as she could. It hit him in the face and fazed him only for a second. Then the blackened pocketknife fell from the dungarees of the doll-corpse, Tiffany went to make a grab for it, but not before Chucky did.

"I'm gonna make you bleed…" He hissed, flicking out the blade. He swiped wildly at Tiffany, cutting a two-inch gash in her left cheek. She yelped and fell backwards, something she later regretted doing.

Glen and Glenda stared in disbelief as they watched Chucky emerge from the closet, they were sure that he had died, Glenda had torched him then Tiffany ran the pipe through his chest. There shouldn't have been any coming back for him, not this time…not after that. If Chucky hadn't posed such a threat to them, they would have laughed; a Chucky with tits was quite funny albeit a little fucking sinister.

Tiffany screamed in a combination of anger and fear as Chucky leapt on top of her, pinning her to the floor. She would have sworn that throwing him off would be easy due to his size, but no, his strength was still that of a fully-grown adult, he might even be a little stronger due to the voodoo magic. It was even possible that the magic had made him more insane than what he was before. Whatever the case, he was on top of her and trying to ram that knife down her throat. He almost succeeded when Tiffany managed to shift her weight to one side, causing Chucky to lose his balance and topple over. Tiff pulled back her arm and thrust a clenched fist into her assailant's stomach; again this was something she wished she hadn't done for the doll's hard plastic body was resistant to physical assault and it hurt like hell.

From the back of Chucky's throat rumbled the darkest and most sinister laugh Tiffany ever heard; this wasn't the Chucky she knew, this was a completely different person to the guy she was accustomed to. The bloodthirsty, psychotic-yet-loveable Chucky she almost married was lost in this vortex of seething rage and malice that had taken over her former body. He'd completely snapped. The bride-doll was no more than three feet tall yet he towered over her with the presence of a fully-grown adult as he got to his feet; she was in total and horrified awe, staring up at him as if he was either the greatest thing in the world or as if he was hypnotising her. Only when Chucky snapped the knife into her view did she gather the sense to try and escape him.

Tiffany quickly scrambled to her feet and fell backwards to the floor again as she dodged Chucky's blade, again; and again; and again. She was so engrossed in escaping the blade that she hardly noticed the trickle of fresh blood running down her cheek and dripping off her chin. Chucky screamed and, in an uncontrollable fit of malevolency, dove onto Tiffany and thrust the knife down on her sternum. Tiff cried out in surprise and fear and twisted her upper body to the right, allowing the knife to pierce her shoulder instead of her chest. The doll laughed and yanked the knife from her flesh before bringing it down again. He was stopped by a sudden collision to the side of his head; the old china lamp shattered against the hard plastic of the bride-doll and sent Chucky reeling to the side. Tiffany took this time to scramble to her feet and weakly limp back over to Glen, who had by now picked up a six-inch brass dog.

"Thanks hon…" Glen just glanced at her before looking back at Chucky, who was getting to his feet.

"Don't think you can last against me!" Chucky yelled. "I've got a long time until I start turning human again, I'll kill you even if it means doing it slowly!" In a way Chucky knew what he said was meaningless; he was going to kill her slowly anyway.

"Kids," Tiffany hissed, "go upstairs and lock yourself in a room, the keys are in my bedroom." Glen gave a pleading look and lowered his projectile.

"But mom…!"

"Now!" Tiff snapped, snatching the decoration from Glen's hand. Her children did as they were told and scurried to and up the stairs. Chucky cackled and stepped past the dead assistant.

"Doesn't matter where they hide, I'll find them!" Tiffany was about to retort when the doorbell rang. She spun around and made a dash for the door, dropping the ornament on the way. Chucky gave chase and made a dive for her ankles, but despite her injuries Tiffany was too quick and managed to open the door, tumble out and slam it shut. She leant her back against the door and blinked, panting heavily. The looked out at the horde of children standing in her front garden. The little girl who had previously been distraught by the discovery of Tiff's assistant stepped up to her.

"Our mommies and daddies aren't here yet…" She said shyly. Tiffany groaned and leant her head back against the door, half-expecting Chucky to start beating on the door or trying to shove it open.

"Not now sweetie…" She wheezed. Another girl screamed and pointed at Tiffany's leg.

"You're bleeding!" She cried out. Tiff sighed and painfully knelt down in front of the first little girl.

"I need you guys - all of you - to go down the road to the Mackenzie's house and call the police."

"But-"

"No buts. Just do it, ok?" The little girl sighed and nodded, as did the other children, before they turned and hurried out of the garden and down the street.

"Police! Hahaha, good one Tiff!" Chucky cackled through the front door. "More victims for me to mutilate!" Tiffany didn't reply, instead she hobbled away from the door and down the side of the house.

Choosing to take Tiffany's silence as a sign of defeat Chucky made his way to the stairs, still with the knife in his hand. He ascended the stairway with some difficulty; he kept getting his legs caught in the wedding dress. After some time and cursing, he managed to get to the top. All the doors were closed, so he had to try them all. The floorboard strained and creaked under his feet as he slowly walked down the hall to the first door. He grabbed the handle and opened the door, obviously they weren't in there otherwise it would have been locked.

He moved on to the next door, tried and opened it then walked down to the next. He tried the handle and found the door didn't budge, he grinned to himself and peered in through the keyhole; his view was limited but he could see that it was the master bedroom he was looking in on. The doll backed away from the door, pressed himself against the opposite door and threw himself back at the bedroom entrance. It took three attempts before the lock gave way and the door flung open. Chucky walked in and glanced around the room before quickly falling to his hands and knees, looking under the bed for his two kids. He got up and looked at the open window, a low growl rumbled from his throat and he turned to walk out just before the door slammed shut. He yelled and ran over; tried to open the door but found it locked which seemed odd, as he'd bust the lock himself only moments ago.

After Tiffany had yelled at them, Glen and Glenda hurried up the stairs and ran into their mother's bedroom.

"What do we do?" Glen asked his sister, who just shrugged in response. He sighed irritably and grabbed a set of five keys off Tiffany's dresser. "I've got an idea." He said before locking the bedroom door and running to the window, Glen climbed on the bed and opened it. "Come on!" He hissed at his sister before stepping out onto the windowsill. He held onto the gutter above the window and shimmied across to the next windowsill, he was soon followed by Glenda who couldn't help but look down at Tiffany watching the other kids run down the road. When Glen got across he jumped into his room through the already open window, ran to the door and peeked out. He could hear Chucky cursing as he tripped over his dress several times over. He shut the door again and hurried to the bed as Glenda jumped in through the window. "Glenda, help me take the sheet off." She nodded and helped her brother take off the pillows and duvet off before removing the sheet.

Glen went back to the door and pressed his ear against it, he heard the lock to Tiffany's door gave way and opened his own; just catching Chucky's dress slipping into the room. He, followed by Glenda, hurried down the hall and tied one end of the sheet to the doorhandle of the door opposite Tiff's room before slamming her door shut and tightly tying the other end of the sheet to that handle, making it impossible for Chucky to open it. Glen then walked down the hall to his room and locked the door. He sighed and slumped to the floor.

"Well…at least he can't hurt anyone now." Glenda nodded in agreement and sat next to him, listening to Chucky scream and curse as he beat his fists on the door.

"Let me out you fucking brats!"

Tiffany hobbled down the side of her house and groaned as she heard the noise of Chucky breaking in one of the bedroom doors, realising her kids were in ever-increasing danger she limped as fast as she could down to the back yard. Pain shot through her nervous system like a thunderbolt, it was unbearable but she had to endure it, for her kids' sakes. She stumbled past the shed and, deciding she'd need a weapon, entered it. Amongst all the rusted spanners, screwdrivers, nails and broken lawnmower parts she found a small axe, which she picked up and carried out of the shed.

Chucky snarled and walked away from the door. Fucking kids, he thought, how was he supposed to know dolls could get pregnant? If he did he probably wouldn't have touched Tiff, either that or he would have shot her in the stomach before. He went to the bed and climbed up onto it and went through the window, he did what his kids had done and shimmied across the gutter to Glen's windowsill. He entered the room and went to the door - it was locked, as he suspected, so he went back out the window and slid down the pipe to the ground in front of the house. He darted down the side of the house towards the back yard and noticed Tiffany as she left the shed. He gripped his knife tighter and ran as fast as he could towards her.

Tiffany limped towards the shattered French doors and stopped, she heard the distinctive shuffling of little plastic doll-feet and spun around just as Chucky began his assault on her legs. He swiped at her with the knife and was thrown to the side as Tiffany delivered a sharp blow to the side of his head with the back of the axe head. Chucky let out a low grunt and staggered slightly, Tiff raised the axe over her head and swung at him again. Chucky's eyes widened and he fell backwards as the axe whizzed past in front of his face, missing him by centimetres.

"You've got no chance of surviving now you shit!" Tiff yelled, bringing the axe up again for another swing. Chucky scrambled backwards, got to his feet and ran a few feet away from her.

"I can still walk faster than you can run, as long as I can stay away from you with that axe I'll be just fine!" He spat with a conceited smirk on his face. Tiff glared at him and limped forwards, as she did so Chucky stepped backwards, just beyond her reach. He laughed and mocked her from a safe distance as she tried to take his head off again; and again, and again she failed. He jeered and skipped over to the French windows. "You can't catch me Tiff, I always knew I was too good for you!" His glory was fleeting as a brass dog colliding with the side of his head soon silenced him. Glen stood next to his father, the dog in hand. Chucky had fallen to his knees with a rather nasty looking dent in the side of his plastic head, Tiffany had even winced when the base of the ornament found its target in the doll's temple.

"Ugh…" Chucky mumbled, trying to get his sight down to less that quadruple-vision.

"Glen!" Tiff cried out, once her son turned to her she tossed the axe at his feet. "Do it now!" Glen looked at the axe and quickly picked it up, he dropped the dog and brought the axe up over his head. Chucky's jaw dropped when he looked up at his son, his eyes widened and Tiffany was sure he turned pale. Their son didn't hesitate for a second and he brought the axe down with quite some force, beheading Chucky.

The severed head of the blonde bride-doll rolled across the living room floor, and the body stayed on its hands and knees. Glenda walked over and picked the head up, blinked and dropped it again before walking to the body; she went to take the knife from the body when it twitched. Glen screamed and hacked down on it several times. Then it lay still. Glenda continued on her movement and picked the knife up.

Tiffany hobbled over to them and sighed heavily. Finally, Chucky had been killed, even though it was a bit cliché. She knelt next to her children and sobbed into her hands.

Glenda stared at the knife in her hand, it was a knife Chucky'd stolen from the kitchen - it was their knife…but it didn't feel like it anymore. It had tasted blood, Tiffany's blood, and now it felt as if it was wrong to hold it - dirty, even. It conjured up feelings, bad feelings, in her she thought she'd expelled or suppressed. Feelings that came from the side of her that her father had contributed to, the side of her she knew was wrong. A voice whispered in the back of her mind, she didn't recognise the voice but she recognised the things it said. It said the same things when she and Glen were in the same body. She shut her eyes; she tried to stop the voices; the urges; the feelings. She tried to stop her wanton need to burn and cause harm, but all her efforts were in vain when she opened her eyes and found herself raising the knife up and thrusting it down between Tiffany's shoulder blades.

Glen screamed in horror as Glenda stabbed their mother, who let out a gurgled gasp and fell to the floor. Glenda stared blankly down at her and thrust the knife down again.

"What's wrong with you?" Glen screamed in her face as she yanked the knife out of Tiffany's back. "Why did you do that?" Glenda looked at him with a malevolent glare and conceited smirk that was increasingly familiar to him.

"Power…" She whispered, "all for power…" her whisper turned into a screeching cackle, which bared some resemblance to Chucky's, and she walked away from Glen and from Tiffany's bleeding body. Sirens wailed in the background as the police shot down the street and stopped in front of the house. Glenda climbed over the wooden fence into the next garden and ran away as fast as she could.

(A/N: Bwahaha! Hope you enjoyed it! Sorry for taking so long, I kinda lost interest but thanks to MiraiLianna it's up and finished! So this chapter's for her, since she got me to do it.)


	7. REMASTERED

I would just like to notify any fans of this fanfic that after a horrid amount of time away from writing I have started to re-master it under the title of Child's Play 666 (re-mastered) Chapter 1 is now up! I would love it if you R&R'd and let me know if it's changed for the better or worse.

Thanks! Much love.


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